


How will I know if I am there?

by isquinnabel



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin, Baby-Sitters Little Sister - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Gen, Nymphs & Dryads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isquinnabel/pseuds/isquinnabel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She sleeps with the windows open, summer or winter, and lets the fragrance seep into her pores.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How will I know if I am there?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for quirkyandquiet’s 2013 fandom stocking. I hope you like it! <3
> 
> Thanks to ozqueen and lucida, betas extraordinaire.
> 
> Song lyrics and fic title from Providence by Lisa Mitchell ([link](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqjPZXC5uY8)).
> 
> _____________________________________

 

 

_We’re young  
We’re old  
We look, we climb the trees,  
We can’t tell Them from We  
It’s hard, I know  
We search  
We wait._

 

 

\---

 

 

When Druscilla stays at her grandmother’s house, she always picks the corner bedroom on the second floor. The hardy rosemary in the window boxes has managed to withstand any temperature thrown at it, and its scent has wended its way into every inch of the room. She sleeps with the windows open, summer or winter, and lets the fragrance seep into her pores.

 

 

\---

 

 

She can never decide whether or not she likes Stoneybrook. Her grandmother’s house is a mixed-up, backwards, upside-down sort of place. Take the kitchen, for example. The bowl on the table holds apples, nectarines, and spare keys. The cookbook shelf holds a haphazard arrangement of books – novels, maps, local mythology, even the occasional actual cookbook. Herbs burst out of their pots, and smudges of dirt are always tracked inside.

Druscilla’s father has always called this house ‘messy’. Her mother prefers the word ‘organic’.

She doesn’t know who she agrees with. She is two people living in one body, and she feels it here more than anywhere else.

 

 

\---

 

 

On Tuesday morning, Melody and Karen think it’s funny to wear hideous orange masks when she answers the door. And maybe it is, a little.  
“What are you guys _wearing_?”  
“We’re Oompa Loompas!” The thick rubber muffles Karen’s voice, but Dru can easily hear her suppressed giggles. “My school did Willy Wonka this year. Hannie didn’t want to keep her mask, so it’s Melody’s now.”  
“Her loss!” Melody tugs the mask away and grins. “Wanna come swimming at my house?”  
“Okay,” Dru smiles. “Just give me a sec to get changed.”

 

 

\---

 

 

_MYTHS AND LEGENDS OF FAIRFIELD COUNTY_

_CHAPTER 6 – DRYADS, HAMADRYADS, AND OTHER TREE GUARDIANS_

_The existence of tree-dwelling spirits has long been rumored among the residents of Fairfield County’s townships. In particular, local history archives hold extensive anecdotal accounts of Stoneybrooke residents (as the town was then named) who claimed to interact with such creatures and, in some cases, even engage in intermarriage and child rearing._

 

 

\---

 

 

The girls spend the better part of an hour engrossed in handstand contests and whirlpools. The Kormans’ pool is enormous, and the five of them can’t manage to build enough momentum for a decent whirlpool. They end up drifting over to the shallow end, lazing on the pebbled steps, conversation wafting on the summer breeze.

“What would you rather be, a mermaid or a centaur?”  
“Mermaid.” Hannie answers almost before Karen finishes asking. “Easy!”  
“I don’t know,” says Dru, tucking a stray daisy behind her ear. “I like swimming and everything, but living in the ocean would suck. Plus I’d probably end up eaten by a giant squid.”  
“Why? You live on land, and you haven’t been eaten by a bear yet.”  
“Can I be a Siren instead?” asks Melody. “That’s a sort of mermaid, right?”  
Karen frowns. “I think they’re different? I don’t really know.”  
“I’ll be a Siren,” decides Melody. “I’ll lure sailors to their doom with my beautiful singing voice.”  
“Your what?” teases Maria, splashing her face. “What are you going to sing, the Oompa Loompa song?”  
Melody and Karen’s eyes light up, and they immediately begin to bellow the song at the tops of their lungs.  
“Nice one, Maria,” says Hannie, rolling her eyes. “You had to mention it.”  
The metallic screech of a window opening rips through the air.  
“Would you guys shut up, already!” shouts Bill. “No-one wants to hear you sing that damn song!”  
“Lies!’ shouts Karen. “Everyone wants to hear us sing! Especially this song! ”  
They start over from the beginning, and Bill retaliates by throwing a t-shirt out the window. It barely misses them; amid the ensuing shrieks, Melody manages to grab the leaf skimmer and fling the shirt into the bushes.  
“Gross,” she shudders.

 

 

\---

 

 

That night, Dru and her grandmother have dinner on the back porch. They eat a garden salad, made with ingredients from right here in the yard. They watch the sun sink behind the trees, and Dru has never felt closer to home.

(This matters more than she knows how to say. She lives in Mom’s apartment and Dad’s townhouse. Both places are her home. Neither place feels like it.)

“This tastes amazing.”  
“It’s the basil leaves.”  
“No, I don’t think it is.” Dru tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ears. “It’s you. Mom, too. Whenever I eat salad grown by anyone else, it just tastes like nothing. I might as well be eating dead air.”

Fireflies begin to wink above the back fence.

“The women in our family have green blood, Druscilla.”  
“Green thumbs, you mean.”  
Her grandmother hides a smile, and doesn’t answer.

 

 

\---

 

 

_NEWS ARCHIVES  
THE BOSTON GLOBE, APRIL 17, 1962_

_MISSING TEEN LOCATED IN CONNECTICUT_

_Local high school student Linda Tuckett, age 15, has been found alive and well in western Connecticut. Tuckett was reported missing on April 3, when parents Robert and Margaret Tuckett awoke to find their daughter’s bedroom empty._

_Tuckett was discovered living in the branches of an oak tree, scavenging food from nearby farmland. Police have confirmed that there is no evidence of foul play in this case. The Tuckett family has publically thanked all who assisted in the search for Linda, but have declined further comment on the matter._

 

 

\---

 

 

“That sounds really pretty.”  
Dru lowers her flute.  
“Thanks,” she smiles. “Sorry, is it too loud? Mom never lets me practice outside, she thinks I’ll disturb the neighbors.”  
“Don’t worry about us, we’re pretty disturbed already,” grins Karen. “Want some company? I have a triangle lying around somewhere. I’m basically a triangle prodigy.”  
“Wow. I bet you have to practice a lot to keep those skills up.”  
“Totally. At least an hour before breakfast. Every single day.” Karen hops off the fence. “I think it’s in Emily Michelle’s room. Back in a bit!”

 

 

\---

 

 

Melody is pretty casual with her possessions, and has no problem with Dru borrowing her bike. (“It used to be Bill’s, it’s kind of ugly and clunky. Don’t worry about being careful. I’ll owe you one if you wreck it for me.”)

She rides along Burnt Hill Road, watching the houses grow further and further apart. The heat of the day has long since faded, and a cool breeze flutters through her hair as she rides. The air smells luscious and rich out here; things are growing, things truly _live_ on the edge of town.

She coasts off the road and slows to a gradual stop on the grass. She’s come to the place where the proper trees begin. Not the ones grown to complement a carefully manicured garden or to provide a shaded corner in a playground. These trees are here for the simple purpose of existing.

She abandons the bike and settles into the roots of an elm tree.

 

 

\---

 

 

_I’m here, I’m ready.  
What do you want? What do you want?  
What do you want?_

 

 

 


End file.
